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I think my great book is Born to Sing: An Interpretation and World Survey of Bird Song.
--
In Herbert F. Vetter, "Not The Average Philosopher", Harvard Magazine, May/June 1997, Volume 99, Number 5. Vetter was surprised by this, given Hartshorne's dozens of substantial books on theology.

 

Charles Hartshorne

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I was born
I was born to sing for you
?I didn't have a choice but to lift you up
And sing whatever song you wanted me to.
I give you back my voice
From the womb my first cry, it was a joyful noise.

 

Larry Mullen

 

Sweet, can I sing you the song of your kisses?
How soft is this one, how subtle this is,
How fluttering swift as a bird's kiss that is,
As a bird that taps at a leafy lattice;
How this one clings and how that uncloses
From bud to flower in the way of roses.

 

Arthur Symons

 

One more instance I will give of his interest and his knowledge. We were passing under a fir tree when we heard a small song in the tree above us. We stopped and I said that was the song of a golden-crested wren. He listened very attentively while the bird repeated its little song, as its habit is. Then he said, "I think that is exactly the same song as that of a bird that we have in America"; and that was the only English song that he recognized as being the same as any bird song in America. Some time afterwards I met a bird expert in the Natural History Museum in London and told him this incident, and he confirmed what Colonel Roosevelt had said, that the song of this bird would be about the only song that the two countries had in common. I think that a very remarkable instance of minute and accurate knowledge on the part of Colonel Roosevelt. It was the business of the bird expert in London to know about birds. Colonel Roosevelt's knowledge was a mere incident acquired, not as part of the work of his life, but entirely outside it.

 

Edward Grey

 

On the day I was born,
Said my father, said he
I've an elegant legacy waiting for ye.
Tis a rhyme for your lips
And a song for your heart
To sing it whenever the world falls apart.

 

Yip Harburg

 

His mother taught him to sing. And when he had grown up and had listened to the world's song, he felt that there could be no greater happiness than to return to her song. In her song dwelt the most precious and most incomprehensible dreams of mankind. The heath grew into the heavens in those days. The songbirds of the air listened in wonder to this song, the most beautiful song of life.

 

Halldor Laxness